


considering a distant star

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Kitagawa Daiichi, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 10:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7973377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There are better things for him to bat an eyelid over than Oikawa Tooru, who’s so distant he probably doesn’t even know his name—</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	considering a distant star

**Author's Note:**

> (originally posted [here](http://larkwords.tumblr.com/post/138767025353/haikyuu-oikuni-kunimi-considering-a-distant), slightly edited for AO3)

 

He’s only a first year, ready and waiting to fade into the background, like he does best.

Oikawa Tooru, with a picturesque flick of his wrist that’s just a little too casual to be  _entirely_ careless, strolls into the gym and tosses his blue and white jacket onto the bench.

“I want to try tossing to everyone today.  _All_  the wing spikers,” he announces, to the team at large.

Kunimi paints himself against the wall and looks down at his fingernails. They are immaculate; his fingers lacking the calluses and scrapes that so many other volleyball players have, because he’s made a habit of stepping away unnoticed when he can. He has yet to play a full game, here, and that suits him fine for now.

“—first years included,” Oikawa declares, whirling round on his heel.

Kunimi looks up to see him pointing squarely at his corner, where, next to Kindaichi and Kageyama, he’s managed to slot himself into a recess that’s dimly lit.

With a smile that curves his lips, porcelain-sharp, Oikawa says, “Don’t think I haven’t been watching you train.”

Kindaichi swallows. Kunimi doesn’t.

There are better things for him to bat an eyelid over than Oikawa Tooru, who’s so distant he probably doesn’t even know his name—

 

 

 

“Kunimi-chan,” says Oikawa, letting his voice lilt high and inviting, “how about you first?”

It’s not a question. It’s a call, and Kunimi comes.

 

 

//

 

Later, when Oikawa asks him  _was that okay_ , Kunimi finds that he has nothing more to offer than a diffident shrug.

He doesn’t say,  _why should it matter?_ , doesn’t bother with the obvious fact that Oikawa will probably never toss to him in an official match; he’s only a first year, after all.

Oikawa furrows his brow, appraising.

Kunimi doesn’t stay to watch him walk away. His own retreat is swift and efficient.

 

//

 

_was that okay?_

 

The truth was, it was perfect. Just the way he likes his tosses. Just the way he never knew he liked them. And he’s unnerved, unsettled, his hiding places raked out into the open. Perhaps, if tosses were always like that— _who knows…_

But after Oikawa leaves and Kageyama becomes the official team setter, no one ever asks Kunimi,  _was that okay_ , and it never is okay again.

 

//

 

And he’ll remember the twist of Oikawa’s shoulders, the fine arc of his back—

The faint hush that falls over the court, every time he steps up to serve.

The impossible lightness he leaves in his wake, as he recedes, soars; stars are simply luminescence, Kunimi knows, held together by their own gravity, and they’re not meant to be touched.

 

//

 

He’s only a first year, ready and waiting to be forgotten.

Oikawa Tooru strolls into the gym, his smile unchanged. He’s taller, now, whip-tight and breezy, and when he turns, it’s with a calculated grace Kunimi knows well.

“Why, if it isn’t Kunimi-chan…”

His eyes narrow knowingly.

Kunimi, half in shadow, nods back, and his fingers tingle.

 

 


End file.
